


Fighting For Position

by Skalidra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Biting, Consent Issues, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, Lube, M/M, Mind Control, Ownership, Power Play, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: The Paladins are Zarkon's most dangerous team; at least that's what they've been since they were, one by one, caught by Zarkon and given to the Druids to make them loyal. Now, the Paladins belong to Shiro, and Shiro belongs to Zarkon. But sometimes, Zarkon likes to watch his pets play together, and none of the pairs are quite as enticing as Shiro and his favorite commander, Sendak.





	

**Author's Note:**

> And, the prompts for Day 7 are, 'Bad Ending/Mind Control'. This was actually the first thing I wrote, and I think it might be my favorite. XD (One more day past this!) Enjoy!

"What's it going to be today?" Lance asks, a bounce in his step and grin on his lips, pressing up against his side, an arm looping around his. "Is there a job? A hit? Something to _do?_ Shiro _come on, I'm bored._ "

"No jobs," he says, lifting his free hand to tilt Lance's chin up, sliding metal fingers along curve of his jaw. "Why don't you go play with Keith? He's usually up for something."

Lance's smile is a sharp, bright thing, and he watches as Lance slips away from him, all but skipping across the room. He lets his gaze slip down the length of Lance's back, covered only by the black undersuit of his uniform and its sharp blue lines. A match for the rest of his boys (and girl), minus the variations in color. He follows at a slower pace, over to where Keith is on the training mats, dueling one of the tall, gleaming-silver Galra robots.

Lance takes the bayard from its hooked spot on his hip, lifting it as it morphs. It's barely braced along his arm before he's taking the shot, blasting the robot away from Keith in a single clean shot. Keith spins, the blade of his own bayard fading away, eyes narrowed and mouth in a snarl.

"Lance, what the hell?! I wasn't done!"

Shiro moves to the edge of the mat, watching Lance move across it, bayard hooked back at his hip as easily as it was pulled off. He comes right up to Keith, sliding both arms over Keith's shoulders and pressing up against him, grinning. Keith shoves his bayard onto its own hook, scowling and shoving Lance back a half step. Shiro gives a slow smirk, watching the play as Keith hisses at Lance, standing firm in the face of how Lance winds around him, taller and lankier.

Keith's gaze slips to Shiro, past Lance's shoulder as the other boy whispers in his ear, mouth still curled in that hungry grin. Shiro smiles back, crossing his arms loosely over his chest, hips cocking to one side. Keith lets himself be pulled closer, Lance's arm now draped around his shoulders. Shiro lets his boys come up to him, Keith as standoffish as ever but Lance making up for it with the curve of his grin and the way he's leaning half on Keith.

"Shiro?" Keith asks, chin tilted up, gaze meeting his. "What's up?"

"I'm _bored_ ," Lance says, in a stage-whisper that suggests he's said it already. "Come on Keith, _play_ with me."

"Like I trust anything that comes out of _your_ mouth," Keith says with a scoff, shrugging Lance's arm away from him. "Shiro?"

"Entertain him," he orders, with a lift of his chin to indicate Lance. "You can do that, can't you, Keith?" He lets his arms unfold so he can reach forward with his Galra hand, sliding the unnaturally warm metal beneath Keith's jaw to tilt it up. Then he lets his hand move over, to cup Lance's jaw and slide a thumb against his lips. "My boys know how to play together, don't they?"

Lance licks at the tip of his metal thumb, the sensation just registering in the dulled, fake nerves. "You promise to watch?"

"Unless I get bored," he agrees, sliding his thumb past eager lips for just a moment, enough that when he withdraws it he can slide the wetness across Lance's bottom lip, making it shine. "Go on, boys. Give me a show worth watching."

Keith is the one to ask, "What do you want to see?" Though his gaze is following the slide of his thumb against Lance's mouth, almost hungrily. Shiro's known his boys for long enough to know what they like, in detail, and been free of inhibition long enough to put it all into practice.

Lance's oral fixation, Keith's enjoyment of orders, and their shared passion for praise, as long as he's the one speaking it. There are a hundred other quirks, but their obedience is one of the things he enjoys most of all; there's a great thrill in knowing that whatever he wants, his boys will do for him. Hunk and Pidge will as well, but the two of them are more analytically oriented and interested in their science and their experiments than his more physical boys. For now.

Maybe that will change once Pidge grows old enough to know what she wants.

"One of you, take the other," he commands, withdrawing his hand. Lance leans towards it, but only until Shiro clicks his tongue to focus him.

"Got a preference?" Lance asks, with a wiggle of eyebrows.

He does, but there are other things he'll enjoy, and Keith _was_ interrupted before he could finish his duel. "Fight for it," he orders carelessly, letting his arms cross again.

"That is so _unfair_ ," Lance whines, even as Keith's mouth curls in a small smirk. "If you want to see Keith on top you could just _say_ that instead of setting up something I'm gonna lose!"

Keith strikes hard and fast, as predicted, and Lance yelps and jerks away from the stinging blow to his ribs. Not in time to avoid the foot that kicks one leg out from under him though, and helps Keith slam him to his knees, hands curling around Lance's arms and twisting them up behind his back. Lance squirms, feet shoving against the ground, but can't quite break free.

_Lance_ , his mind categorizes. Prone to distraction. Tall, lean, fast, a hell of a shot and all but fearless in combat, but definitely meant for mid to long range fighting. _Keith;_ shorter, smaller, but stronger and with the best melee combat skills of any of his Paladins. Focused, deadly, but with a temper that makes him reckless at times and blind to his surroundings. Both of his boys have flaws, but those can be ironed out with time. He'll make warriors of them yet.

He crouches down, letting himself come down to face Lance at his new level. "It's not so bad down here, is it?" he asks, and Lance squirms and shakes his head.

"No," comes the mulish answer. "But I could avoid the bruises if you just like, say what you want. You know Keith's gonna beat me."

He cups Lance's jaw, leaning in and granting a soft brush of their lips, before he murmurs, "Maybe I like watching him bruise you." Lance whines a little when he pulls away, straining towards his fingers, but he ignores it. "Go on, Keith. He'll be good for you; give me something to watch."

Keith nods, and then steps back and drags Lance with him. Just a couple feet away, until he can spin Lance around and press him down into the mat, flattening his shoulders against it. Lance's arms are released so that Keith can pull down the zipper of the undersuit, splitting it down his spine before roughly peeling it off. Lance is mostly cooperative, even if he does squirm and give little protesting sighs as his arms are jerked down.

Shiro smiles to himself, and as a reward for Keith, when it becomes clear that Keith has turned Lance so that his raised, and now bared, ass is pointed directly up at him. Lance shifts, arms pressing to the ground, as Keith kneels at his side. One hand wraps around the back of his neck, pinning his head down, and the other slides down his spine until it slips between his cheeks, massaging at the furl of muscle there. Lance presses into it, as wanton as Keith is reserved (both beautiful in very different ways, his boys), and Keith rewards it by pushing a finger in and giving him the touch he wants.

Lance arches, giving a moan into the mat beneath him, and Shiro feels a small flush of pride at how Keith's finger glistens upon removal, slipping slick and easy.

"What a good boy," he praises, keeping his voice low. "Keeping wet like I've ordered; doesn't it make things easier?"

That's something relatively new, and he enjoys it every moment he thinks of it. The Galra don't have lube exactly, in the way that humans think of it, but they have something slick and long-lasting that's like the best quality ones. Almost no taste, washable with water but otherwise resistant to just about anything, and safe, as far as he can tell, to the human body. Since determining that, he's ordered both his boys to insert some into themselves each morning. Not only does it have the bonus of bringing his flushed, aroused boys to him almost every morning they do, but it makes every activity over the day more convenient.

He does it too, to himself, but more from necessity than enjoying it. He has other, bigger masters to serve.

" _Yes_ ," Lance moans, rocking up against the finger and prompting Keith to slide in another. "Won't you play with me, Shiro?" is the plea, as Lance wiggles, shamelessly inviting him to touch. He _does_ want to.

"I promised to watch," he points out, amused. "You wouldn't want me to break my word, would you, Lance?"

The immediate response — half-joined words all with the positive theme of _yes_ — spell out that Lance really would, and Keith snorts and rolls his eyes, pulling the fingers out and giving a sharp, hard spank to Lance's ass. Enough to draw a yelp and a forwards jerk, before Lance is right back to begging, skin just barely reddening beneath the hit. Keith looks up at Shiro and he smirks back, giving a single, deliberate nod.

"Lance, why don't you take over opening yourself up?" he suggests. Lance shivers, clearly expecting something along the lines of what he's thinking, but is all too eager to comply. One arm works down underneath him, reaching up and sliding fingers up between his legs. He watches two of those fingers take the place of where Keith's were, watches them work for a moment — shallow, constrained by the angle — before he tilts his head towards Keith. "Keith, spank our dear boy until he's open enough to be taken, will you? You know how he likes a bit of pain."

" _Shiro_ ," comes the whine, but Lance doesn't actually move away from Keith at all, or even really try to. The slap of skin just barely covers up the sound of Lance's fingers moving, but both are nearly drowned out by the sounds he's giving at the blows.

Shiro watches, enjoying the expressions on his boys' faces, and the contrast of Keith's paler skin against Lance's darker tone. He tilts his head, watching the slide of skin and ignoring the heat rising beneath his own skin. He has more control than either of his boys, he can wait until they've satisfied each other to do his own playing.

He hears the ping of the main door opening, and turns just enough to look over at it. The flash of purple, furred skin and an oversized arm is more than enough for him to recognize their visitor. Keith's gaze flicks up, but he gives a tiny shake of his head and Keith looks back down, slowing the blows of his hand but keeping his focus on Lance. Lance probably hasn't noticed yet, but that's alright. He'll know soon enough.

Sendak approaches, and he follows the movement by sound, not moving from his spot until Sendak is practically right behind him, radiating the heat associated with the Galra's slightly higher base temperatures. There's the hum of Galra technology, and he tilts his head just slightly back as Sendak's more massive arm circles him, claws sliding along his chest and more than big enough to cover almost the entirety of it. The heated metal scrapes against his ribs even through the undersuit.

"Commander," he greets, keeping his voice low and free of reaction.

"Paladin," comes the returning growl, hot breath ruffling his hair. "Our Emperor wants to see you."

He can feel the heat of Sendak pressing up against him, armor hard and ridged against his more giving shoulders. The prosthetic, replacement arm keeps him trapped between that and the unforgiving metal of the hand itself. He doesn't let it make his back bend, or let it make him breathe or react in any way but to tilt his head a little more to the side and give a sharp smile.

"Whatever the Emperor wants," he agrees.

Sendak leans down; he feels the sharp nip of pointed teeth at his ear. Sendak's voice is lower, barely a breath and directly in his ear. "I'm looking forward to putting you in your place again, little human."

"If you _can_ ," he breathes back, with a sharper grin. "I remember a different outcome last time, Sendak."

The hand on his chest squeezes down, until he can't help but let his breath catch a little. "That was _one time_ , Paladin. I'll tear you apart this time, human, right in front of our Emperor."

He forces his breath to steady again, as Sendak lets him go. "We'll see. Does he want me there now?"

"Now," Sendak confirms. "Come along, little human. Your Master wants you."

He dips his head for half a moment, then steps forward and slips out of the last clinging grasp of Sendak's claws. He leans down, running his flesh hand through Keith's hair and tugging him up. Then he flicks a finger to make Keith pull Lance upwards by the back of his neck. He strokes his metal fingers down Lance's spine, and cups Keith's face with the other.

"Have fun without me," Shiro murmurs, through his smile. "When you're done; swap. I want my choice of you when I get back." He gives Keith a soft kiss to his forehead, and then leans a bit further and presses one to the back of Lance's shoulder. "Don’t get too tired, boys."

Keith nods, and Shiro stands and moves back. Sendak is smirking, mouth curved in a dangerous twist, and comes up beside him when he heads for the door. That massive hand presses against his back, claws circling his ribs and curling over his shoulders till he's practically being steered along. That's normal enough; Sendak prefers to assert his dominance — very technically, _Commander_ Sendak is the overseer of the Paladins, even though in practice Zarkon is the one who actually rules them — through physical means, and he's small enough to make it easy.

When they actually fight, the tables are more even. Shiro's past experience as the Champion, and his training around it, has made him one of the most deadly agents that Emperor Zarkon has. He and Sendak are nearly even, depending on the day.

"How are your pets?" Sendak asks, clearly amused.

"Partners," he corrects, idly.

It's entirely ignored, as Sendak squeezes his back hard enough to ache a bit and then comments, "They looked like they were enjoying themselves. Do you like having one of them prepare the other for you?"

He laughs, ignoring the dull pain in turn. It's nothing. "My boys are free to enjoy themselves with or without me. I enjoy watching them just as much as they enjoy being watched, and I prefer to play once they're tired out for me. They make louder sounds."

"Maybe I should borrow one of your pets someday," Sendak threaten-suggests, head ducking a little closer towards him. "If they're so enjoyable."

"If you want," he says, dismissive and refusing to acknowledge or show the jealousy that curls in his chest at the suggestion. Keith and Lance are _his_. "Lance is louder, Keith is more of a challenge. They'll take more time though, if you really want them. They're not used to Galra anatomy."

"I'm sure I could borrow one of the medical division's stretchers," Sendak says, voice dropping a little lower. "I remember how _you_ like that."

He can't help the faint shudder this time, but he holds his head a bit higher and refuses to admit the twist of shameful desire in his gut at that memory. It was a shameful thing, being so viciously and suddenly bared, and _held_ open for the Galra's enjoyment and viewing, but he also remembers it with sharp enjoyment. It was a hell of an experience, though not one he wants to repeat very often. (When he's paying attention Zarkon likes him shamed and overwhelmed; the more he grows used to, the more intense and farther Zarkon pushes him.)

The door to Zarkon's more private throne room looms before them, and he draws to a stop against the resistance of Sendak's hand and turns to look at him. He lets his mouth curl in the smallest, sharpest smile he's capable of, which is enough to make Sendak's ears swivel back and flatten a bit. "If you hurt either of my boys," he starts, voice low, "you'll have to deal with me, Commander. They're _mine_."

"What's yours is Emperor Zarkon's," Sendak reminds him, hand flexing around his back.

"But not _yours_." He gives a sharper smile. "Play if you want to, Sendak. If they're damaged, then we'll talk."

Sendak scoffs, single eye narrowing, before pushing him towards the door. "I'll keep that in mind, human."

The door whirs open ahead of them, and he lets Sendak take him forward, through the short length of the hall and to the slightly elevated throne sitting above them. Not that Zarkon needs it to be taller than them both, or to remind them that he's at least one of the most dangerous beings in the universe. The original Black Paladin, and still the owner of the black bayard. His master.

Sendak shoves him forward onto the steps, using enough force to throw him onto one knee. He glares backwards, and Sendak flashes a pointed smile and laughs at him, solidifying himself as the stronger of the two of them. That's fine; Sendak can posture all he wants. He's not quite allowed to go after Sendak, but that will change some day. When it does, he'll make sure to make it clear that he's just as good as Sendak. That he's _better_.

He turns back around, lifting his head but staying down on one knee as he looks up at Zarkon. Zarkon is smirking, the casual curl of lips easy proof that he's amused by their byplay. Zarkon's fingers beckon him closer, granting him permission to stand and ascend the stairs, so he can kneel down between Zarkon's legs instead, dipping his head in the easiest way he has to show submission. It gets him a gentle pass of gauntleted, clawed fingers through his hair.

"My Champion," Zarkon purrs, low and warm. For the moment. "Have you been good, pet?"

He lifts his head just enough that he can tilt it into Zarkon's thigh, rubbing it against the metal of the armor. "That's your judgment to make, my Emperor," he concedes, making sure that he shows absolutely _no_ challenge. He would never dare. "I heard you wanted to see me, master."

Another pass of gentle claws across his scalp. "Yes. How are my favorite pets, Champion? Good?"

"Yes, master," he agrees. Zarkon's fingers slide beneath his chin, the tips of claws pricking his skin as his head is tilted up and his gaze is drawn to Zarkon's. He lets his mouth curl in a small smile, as he adds, "My boys were enjoying themselves for me, before your summons."

"A shame to draw you away from them," Zarkon comments. "Any problems with the Druids' programming? Any relapses? Flaws?"

He gives a small shake of his head. "Nothing that I've seen. Their check-ins are coming up within the week; I'll double-check the results with Haggar when it's through." He lifts up just a bit on his knees, leans in and raises his head so Zarkon's fingers slide down the front of his throat. "My Paladins are _bored_ , Emperor. Give us something to do; something to _hunt_. Let us serve you."

Zarkon's smile is pleased, and the light scratch of claws down his throat is gentle enough to be amused and not reprimanding. "What is it you want to hunt, Champion?"

"Anything," he promises, shifting just a little higher. Then he says, "The _castle_. Let us hunt down the Alteans for you, master. We can destroy it for you."

Zarkon's hand comes forward, clasping his throat a bit more securely. "My fleet can handle destroying it just as easily," is the dismissal. "I won't risk my weapons for the sake of a few lives; my soldiers will bring the Alteans to me in time. I'll find something for your team to do in the meantime. It does my empire good to see my weapons in the field, after all."

"Whatever you command, master," he promises, accepting the denial with ease. It makes sense; if anyone has the technology to undo the Druid's mental twisting, it would be Allura and the old Altean technology. "I'll lead my Paladins wherever you desire them."

"Of course you will." Zarkon squeezes his throat, briefly, and then lets his hand fall away, stroking the curve of his throat on the way past. "Your own sessions with Haggar? Anything to tell me?"

There's a faint shadow in the back of his head, a distant memory of something… "Nothing I can remember," he offers, holding Zarkon's gaze. "I'm sure she told you anything necessary, master. If anything happened, she took it from my mind."

A considering look; Shiro only holds still out of long practice. "It's better that way," Zarkon says, a bit quieter. "You trust my judgment, don't you, Champion?"

"Of course," he says, immediately. "Everything I am is yours, my Emperor."

"Good." Zarkon pats the top of his head, and then lightly pushes him back. "Entertain me, pet. Play with Sendak."

He shifts back onto his heels, rising a few inches before Zarkon catches the side of his neck and tugs him forward in a sharp flash of movement. He braces a hand on Zarkon's thigh to support the pull, allowing himself to be manhandled as desired, to be drawn up until he's half in Zarkon's lap, much closer to his Emperor than most people are ever allowed to be.

"No fight today," Zarkon commands, voice a bit lower. "I have a few reports to skim over; come to my side and put your head on my thigh."

"As you command." He pulls away when Zarkon releases him, sinking easily into obedience. He circles around Zarkon's leg, kneeling back down at the outside and lowering his head to rest against Zarkon's thigh. Claws tangle lightly in his hair, stroking idly through it.

"Commander," comes the easy call, and he buries the urge to turn his head and look over at where Sendak must be standing.

"Emperor?" There must be a summons, because he can hear Sendak move closer, ascending the stairs and coming up beside him. "What can I do to please you, Emperor?" Sendak asks, voice low and clearly desiring to do exactly that.

The gauntlet in his hair tugs lightly at it, enough to cause his head to bow a little further, baring the back of his neck. "Come mount my pet, Sendak," Zarkon orders, almost dismissive if not for the curl of amusement to his tone. "Consider it a reward for your latest mission. Next time, you'll fight for the right to him as usual."

"Thank you, Emperor." Sendak sounds smug, and he rolls his eyes knowing that they're safely hidden against Zarkon's thigh. He can feel the heat bracket him as Sendak drops down behind him, the larger Galra leaning over his back. Just a moment later there's a rush of hot air across the back of his neck, followed by the sharp pinpricks of Sendak's teeth closing over his spine.

He eases, allowing Sendak his cultural victory only because he knows that resistance is A, not what Zarkon wants from him right now, and B, will only get him a real, bleeding bite. So he lets his muscles relax, closing his eyes and letting Sendak slide his normal hand up his back to the zipper of his undersuit. It parts, just as Lance's did, down the length of his spine. Slowly, making sure he doesn't set Sendak's hovering mouth off into another bite, he strips the suit off of his arms, baring everything above his waist.

Though above his waist is one of the areas that Sendak is least interested in.

Clawed fingers pull his suit down, to his knees and then all the way off of his legs to leave him completely bare. Partially because both of them like it when he's comparatively vulnerable, and partially because Sendak has learned through previous encounters that he's going to want to spread his legs farther than having the suit trapped at his knees will allow. Shiro's lucky he's relatively flexible, or it would be much more of a struggle to fit the larger Galra bodies against him (and that wouldn't stop them).

Sendak doesn't waste any time, hand sliding over the curve of his ass and then inwards, a finger sliding into him. He presses his face to Zarkon's thigh and gives a small, throaty groan that's only partially an act. Another press of teeth, this time to one shoulder — he'll have faint, needle-fine bite marks all over his upper back before this is done — and a second finger shoves in beside the first. Galra fingers are _big_ , unforgiving, and he grunts at the stretch of his muscle to accommodate them.

This is something he has practice at though. The insertable lube-like substance makes the slide of Sendak's lightly-furred fingers tolerable, and he knows how to force his muscles to relax. Shiro's done more than enough of this to know how to handle what Sendak can dish out on his own; he only runs into things he can't when Zarkon is more directly involved. Whether that's putting on a show with the most well-endowed Galra soldier that Zarkon could apparently find, or being trussed up and played with until he thought he was going to go _mad_.

Well, madder than he already is.

Sendak's Galra-made arm circles under him, gripping his chest in tight, unyielding claws that hook around his ribs and over the tops of his shoulders. They aren't digging in hard enough to break his skin, but the pressure of the hand limits his breathing, and all but immobilizes him unless he wants to actually struggle. His own Galra arm could do _serious_ damage, with Sendak distracted as he is, but Shiro shuts that impulse away, as lovely as it is. This is Zarkon's desire.

Two becomes three, and now he's groaning for real, quickly growing hard at the twist of them inside him, the combined mass of them bigger than most human dicks, at least as far as he can recall. Certainly bigger than him or any of his team, not that they're a very large sample size.

Zarkon's hand is a solid, pleasant weight against his scalp, still lightly stroking through his hair. As though he really is just a pet, and Sendak is the one chosen to be allowed to breed him. (Thankfully he's never had to explain human genders to any of the Galra; Hagger seemed to have picked that up from his mind along with all the rest of her knowledge about Earth.) Still, kneeling at Zarkon's side and allowing himself to be taken is miles better than what he remembers of his first year with the Galra, before Haggar had made him better. _Stronger_. Like she's done with the rest of the Paladins, now.

He arches a tiny bit as Sendak bumps into his prostate, but bites his tongue not to react any more than that. Either Sendak will torture him with it, mercilessly, or completely refuse to touch it again. Better to let it be accidental; he'll get enough stimulation once Sendak is in him anyway.

Sendak bites down a little harder against his shoulder, enough that he feels the sharp sting of skin breaking beneath the points of Sendak's teeth. It's not that bad, really. Not enough to make him react. He focuses on making himself relax, open up, and refuse to tense as Sendak's fingers spread, stretching him to the point of discomfort. In some ways, Shiro actually likes this better than when they fight for it beforehand; Sendak is less violent, more prone to actually stretch him properly instead of making him grit his teeth through the initial sting of it.

Sendak shifts against him, armor scraping along his back, and then there's a reprimanding, " _Ah_ ," from Zarkon, warning clear in the single syllable. Sendak goes still, and it takes the rush of hot air over Shiro's neck for him to understand the warning. "Not this time, Sendak," Zarkon says, idle but firm.

Sendak pulls away from his neck, bites at his back instead, which is much more acceptable. Sometimes Sendak is allowed to bite at his neck, to mark and possess him. Other times, Zarkon reserves that for himself. He belongs to Zarkon, after all, even when Sendak is allowed to play with him.

It isn't long after that when Sendak's fingers pull out of him; he cants his hips up automatically to make the angle easier, rubbing his face into Zarkon's thigh and drawing in a deeper breath to make sure he's steady. The desire is there, of course, and his cock aches where it hangs, but that's secondary. Maybe he'll come, or maybe he'll be sent back to his boys to finish with them instead. That's not his decision, and he certainly won't be rewarded for touching himself without permission.

Zarkon tugs, almost comfortingly, at his hair, as Sendak divests himself of enough of the armor to free himself. The oversized hand doesn't move from its grip of his chest. It only takes a few moments before Sendak is pressing at him, and he exhales at the inwards shove. Sendak, like all of the Galra, is proportionately _big,_ and he can feel the dull stretch of it even with the prep, feel how Sendak sinks deeper into him than things were really meant to go. It isn't quite painful; he's been with Galra who were, and vastly prefers the more moderate cocks.

Sendak's flesh hand grabs his hip, claws scratching at his skin. He can feel the fur brushing the backs of his thighs, his ass, and it's still a bizarrely comforting sensation. Soft.

Then Sendak pulls out, _snaps_ back in, and he braces a hand against the base of Zarkon's throne, beneath his leg, to steady himself against the force. Sendak, as always, takes him as though he's little more than a vehicle to be used, fucking hard and fast with little regard for what he's getting out of it. (He's gotten the impression, over time, that this is the standard behavior for sex centered around dominance. Slower — or less animalistic — sex is for those already under your control, or important to you.)

Despite the rough nature of it, he's far from just enduring. Sendak is large enough to be rubbing against his prostate regardless of angle, and he can feel that ache of pleasure translating into the slow drip of fluid from his cock as he's inadvertently milked, a sensation that is both maddening and unbelievably good. It's different from a normal orgasm, rising slower and stronger up from the very bottom of his gut, like an unstoppable wave.

He makes sure that his moans come out strained, like he's struggling to keep them held back but just _can't_ , even though that isn't remotely true. As if he cares that Sendak knows he's enjoying this; it hasn't been humiliating for a long time now. The fake struggle, and surrender, is just appealing to Sendak's ego. Zarkon at least, if not both of them, knows exactly what he's doing. Sendak he's allowed to play, if he wants to.

This time, the stimulation is enough. (If he was examining it he'd probably note that Zarkon's hand on his head, and the heat of his thigh, is the defining factor.) He works higher, slowly, until the orgasm is crashing through him and pulling a loud, drawn out groan from his chest that's not even slightly muffled into Zarkon. Sendak's arm supports him, holds him mostly still through the contract and release of the bone-deep feeling as he trembles, spilling onto the ground.

Sendak lasts only a few minutes past him, though it's long enough that he starts to ache, his cock kept half-hard by the pressure against his prostate and still leaking small dribbles even when his orgasm is undeniably finished. There must be permission exchanged over his head, because Sendak shoves deep and comes into him, snarling close to the back of his neck but not touching him with those sharp teeth as the release floods into him, almost _burning_ hot for a couple moments and enough to make him gasp and arch a bit.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting the two of them do what they want over him. That ends up with Sendak pulling away and out of him, hands sliding off his skin and leaving him to himself, apart from Zarkon's touch. He can hear the shuffle of Sendak getting dressed, and then the tap of his footsteps before the door opens. He stays still; he hasn't been given permission to move from where Zarkon ordered him, though he does clench down as much as he can to stem the feel of liquid slowly trickling down the inside of his thighs.

Zarkon lets him kneel there for a couple minutes more, before sliding that large hand down to clasp around the back of his neck and pull him upward. He goes where directed, and isn't particularly surprised to be pulled up mostly onto Zarkon's lap, his legs spread wide over the more massive width of Zarkon's thighs. Without prompting he rolls his shoulders back, sliding both arms behind himself and grasping hand to opposite elbow, so he isn't tempted to touch.

That gets him a pleased, curling smirk. Zarkon pulls him in, leans just slightly forward, and he arches his neck obediently to allow Zarkon room to close teeth over his throat. The sharp points break his skin easily, digging in to leave an obvious, vivid mark of ownership on the front of his neck. He's released a moment later, so that Zarkon can pull him up higher on his knees.

"Clean up the mess you left, my Champion," Zarkon orders, voice a smooth, rolling thing. "Then you can go back to your team and tell them that I'll be giving them an assignment soon enough." A graze of claws against his shoulder, trailing down his chest. "I'll summon you later."

He smiles, tilting his head to feel the sting of that new bite as he promises, "Anything you want, my Emperor."


End file.
